


Safety

by DrScout



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3980518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrScout/pseuds/DrScout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A beautiful morning, perfect for a pregnant woman to settle some financial affairs and being taken hostage by a handsome rogue during a bank robbery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety

**Author's Note:**

> A very kind anon requested some Spy/Scout's Ma, so here's something quick. Dear Anon, I hope you like it!  
> [Also on Tumblr.](http://tf2mayhem.tumblr.com/post/119480128969/i-read-your-spyxscout-fics-damn-gurl-youre)

* * *

 

 

**Safety**

 

“Next, please,” the man snarled. He wasn’t much older than thirty. Yet, with his bored eyes and his thin voice dulled by the glass panel between himself and the next customer in line, he looked as though he had been trapped on his seat for half a century.

A young woman met his eyes, and gave him a kind smile. He returned it with a frown, and mumbled a monotonous greeting to his customer.

Her smile didn’t lose its kindness. 

Her dark eyes wandered around. The other customers in her line and the line to her right appreciated a friendly face in this place, with it’s white yellowed wallpaper, and the gray, down-trodden carpet.

A new month had begun, and the bank was filled with wives and mothers waiting to withdraw their housekeeping money in place of their working husbands, and elderly folks collecting their pension. Most were simply, but neatly dressed, the faces clean and the hair nicely coiffured and in order. Most of the labourers received their money from their bosses or supervisors, and waited a few days to put whatever was left into their savings once the rush of the employees-wives and pensioners was over.

She took a small mirror from her purse and flipped it open. She wore her hair in a fashionable style, slightly puffed on the back of her head, straight and glossy in her neck, the ends curling up. Perfectly symmetric strands framed her face, flattering her delicate but proud features. The blue hairband matched her new dress wonderfully. There were a few lines around her eyes; while they didn’t surprise her, she considered them minuscule enough to pretend they weren’t there.

Satisfied, the mirror was returned to the darkness inside her worn purse.

“Ow!” She gave a little, bright laugh at the quick pain, and put a gentle hand on her curved belly. “So eager so early in the morning! Your brothers were all late risers. I tell you what,” she whispered to her unborn son, unaware of the smiling faces around her. “I bet your legs will be as pretty and elegant as your father’s!” A pink glow of happiness illuminated her face.

A scream cut through her reverie. She jumped back, turning her head from left to right, and looked into the pale, frightful faces around her.

Then there was the man.

He was wearing a bordeaux red suit on his tall, slim body, and a wide grin on his face. Two rows of straight, white teeth, piercing blue eyes and small patches of pale skin – that was all the mask of the same color as the suit revealed. Except for the sharp contoured of his face, and the thin bridge of a sharp nose.

“Gentlemen, Madmoiselles.” A thick French accent pearled from his lips, and as he made a polite bow, he hurled a short figure wearing a uniform forward. Over thirty years the guard had been standing dutifully by the entrance, and now he hissed his dying breath on the bank’s floor while his blood darkened the carpet.

She retreated until her back hit against the wall, one hand on her thumping heart, the other clutched her purse and shielded the restless baby in her belly.

“Dun’t worry, sweeteh!” A woman, a head taller than her, shoved her stately body in front of her. Looking over her shoulder, this insusceptible dame nodded at her, the make-up cracking beneath the angry frown. “This ain’t no day a Miss Skinner will have a pretty thing like ya and that babby hurt!”

Her hand still stroking over her belly, she raised her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she breathed through smiling lips.

“Dun’t mention-” Her own scream cut her off. A gloved hand had seized her by her yellow curls. She was twirled around, and the second her broad back flew against the man’s chest, the scream changed into the gargle, her painted lips gaping as bright and red as the cut along throat.

“Ah, très jolie! And two at a time!” Blood sputtered from his victim still as she glided to the floor, but he didn’t flinch. The knife flipped and twisted around between his fingers, closed, and disappeared in the folds of his suit. Less than a second passed and he pulled a gun from his belt.

“Pardonnez-moi, Madmoiselle.” He pressed the barrel under her chin. Thick blood trickled down her cheeks where the blood of his victim had slashed across her face, and more dripped from her hair. The abstract crimson pattern on her hairband and dress ruined them in a seemingly intentional fashion.

“I shall require your flattering company.”

“Figlio di Puttana!” she hissed, and spat into his face.

Everything happened so fast.

He dragged her with him, held her against him, always with the gun under her chin.

No resistance remained. Those who hadn’t thrown themselves on the floor were huddling against each other or the nearest wall. Many tear-stained prayers from the depths of fearful hearts were sobbed during those minutes.

The clerk behind the glass filled the bag thrown at him with shaking hands – only bills. No change, no tricks, s'il vouz plaît. He dropped a bundle of notes, but when he attempted to glide out of the robber’s sight, the clicking of a gun unlocking convinced him to keep his hands above the counter. Wishing back the calm and boredom of the last years, he shoved the bag towards the man.

“Merci, it ‘as been a pleasure. Adieu, my friend.” Amiable as a gentleman could be, he nodded at the clerk. He grabbed the bag and pressed it into his hostage’s arms. “Carry this for me, ma chéri. Everyone!” The cheerful smile unbroken, he chuckled at the silent onlookers, as though he greeted an old acquaintance of gone days. “Merci! You 'ave been formidable! Do not change that, and the sweet madmoiselle and 'er bébé are save!”

With a last laugh, he and the weeping woman in his arm left the bank.

 

“I 'ope you find it in your 'eart to forgive me one day,” he chirped, with a twinkle in his eye once he had let himself fall behind the wheel and closed the door of the car.

“Oh, you impossible man!” She wiped a tear from her eyes. Smeared make-up and already drying blood covered her flushed cheeks. “The dress was new!” She laughed, and gave his arm a playful punch.

“I will buy you another. No! We’ll fly to Paris, and I’ll buy you a dozen!” Joining her laughter, he started the engine. With moderate speed, the car rolled from the shadows of the alleyway towards the main street. Police sirens echoed through the neighbourhood – they didn’t have much time, but nobody would suspect an old Ford that was just breaking the right amount of laws to remain inconspicuous.

“I’ll take you by your word, mio amato.” She put her hand on his knee, slowly moving upwards. Her fingertips wandered over his inner tight, and finally reached his belt.

“I miss having fun with this.” With one swift gesture, she pulled his gun from his belt. She leaned back into her seat, giggling at his amused protest.

“Wasn’t it thrilling, shooting that poor fool and the fat broad?” She tilted her head and sighted. With a tender smile, she caressed the gun. Turning it between her hands, her eyes flashing like the steel when it reflected the sunlight.

“How I envy you. You got the fun, and what got I? A ruined dress.”

“Do not fret, ma fifille.” The eyes on the traffic, he bit the tip of one of his gloves and pulled it off his hand. The impish grin vanished from his face, making room for a serene smile as he put the hand on her round belly. “Soon, the child will be with us. When 'e is safe, we can take turns at waving guns again.”

“You’re right. Ow! Did you feel that?” She flinched, grabbed his hand and pressed it closer where she had felt the kick. “He’s so lively!”

“A fine temper, like 'is mother. And I 'ope 'e will also 'ave your beauty.” He stroke over the spot where she had guided him, chuckling when he felt the quick movement.

“I rather hope he’ll be as handsome as his daddy. Oh no!” Her smile fell apart. The sound of sirens was coming closer, and in the rear view mirror, she saw the lights of a police car flashing.

“Mio Dio! How did they find us so quickly?” She turned around in her seat, her face pale and the eyes wide. His hands were both clenching around the steering wheel.

“It does not matter. We 'ave to keep you safe, and…” The rest of his words was buried under a muttered curse. He pulled the car over, crossing the opposite lane. A truck smashed the horn, but he dodged the collision in time, and cut back into their lane.

“That was close!”

“Are you afraid, chéri?”

“No, we will be fine.” She sighed with relief, and patted his arm. “You are the best driver in this city. After me,” she added with a sly smile that made him laugh.

“Phenomenal woman!”

A gunshot ended their laughter. He stepped on the gas until this foot ached, and threw the wheel around.

“Lucien!” she shrieked.

The car crashed through a finely trimmed hedge. The tires screeched and dug into the lawn of a splendid front garden when he forced them into a sharp turn. 

“Ha! Good that there wasn’t a fence!”

“You’re out of your mind! Ouch!” She squirmed, her face a grimace of pain. She was holding her belly with both her arms. He gave her a short, thoughtful glance.

“Silvia,” he said, his voice firm and calm. “Will you forgive me if we do not go to Paris?”

“You’re planning something. Don’t lie, I hear it, and I see it! What are you doing? No!” She leaned across the gap between them and grabbed for the wheel. “Why do you stop! Drive! It’s not over yet!”

But he gently shoved her back into her seat. They had returned to the street. Behind another bend, the car halted, secluded by a tall hedge for now.

“Chéri, if it was me, I would give it all.” He pulled off his mask. His hand ran through his dark brown hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “But if I did now, I risked to lose it all.”

“Why do you have to be so cheesy in such a moment,” she snorted while tears were creeping into her eyes.

“I want to see you smile when we part.”

She opened her mouth, but he lifted her chin, and sealed her lips with a kiss.

“We 'ave no time. Where is the gun?” He polished it with the hem of his jacket, removing her fingerprints, and put it back between his pants and belt. Then he opened the knot of his tie.

“Madmoiselle, understand that I must,” he scolded with a smile when she slapped his hands away.

“Nonsense! We are in this together! Do you think I let them hang you alone?” she snapped back, and snatched the tie away from his fingers.

“Dear, think of your boys. Think of our boy.” He caressed her belly. “All I wanted was giving 'im an easy life. I want 'im to be free. And you, too.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” she scoffed, but she held out her hands for him to bind, and added with a smile, “But thank God you don’t give me reason to hate you often.” He chuckled, and tore his mask apart, and pulled and stretched it until it was long enough to be tied around her ankles.

“I’ll visit you. In prison. Together with him.” She swallowed a sob, but allowed the tears to run.

“Don’t. They’ll make you a witness against me. What will they think if the woman I took 'ostage when she was pregnant comes to see me with 'er baby?” He kissed her again, on her lips, and on her belly.

“I love you.”

“Are you telling me this as a goodbye now? Do you really think I’ll accept that?” she called after him when he opened the door and had one leg out of the car.

“Of course not.” He grinned, giving her a wink. “Do you think that this time, I will let them put me – 'ow did you say – death chair? Trust me, ma petite chou-fleur I’ll find a way to see you again. And to meet 'im.”

After a last blown kiss, he left her behind, and faced four police cars with his hands in the air.

 

_* More than two decades later *_

“Hard to stab a guy in the back when he’s beatin’ your frickin’ head in, huh?”

“Fiery! Just like your mother!” he laughed, and waited for the respawn device to claim him.

 

~ and history unfolds as we know it ~


End file.
